I had never heard of Young the Giant until a few months ago, when this song, “My Body,” popped up on the playlist at my gym. I liked the groove so much that I paused my incredibly wimpy set of curls (“Hey, I’m going for tone, dammit. TONE!”), went to my locker, got out my phone, and Googled it.
The rest is history…
People have compared Young The Giant to The Cure, but they remind me more of Coldplay, but with more of a rock-edge (not to mention a bit more soul).
Rock on…
If you’re of a certain age (i.e., over fifty), you probably spent many a summer afternoon in the long-ago past listening to the 45 single of “Hotel California” over and over and over. (You might also have enjoyed a mildly illegal form of herbal, hand-rolled cigarette as you listened.) If you did, you’ve probably read a lot of articles about the song, and heard a lot of interviews by Don Henley or Glenn Frey or others about it, to the point that you probably think you know everything about it. You know, for instance, that Henley and Frey wrote the lyrics in a very short period of time (by some accounts, a few hours; by others, over a weekend). You know that the album cover is a photo of the Beverly Hills Hotel, and that some people think they see a mysterious figure in the bell tower. And you know that the song is really about Hell, or California-as-Hell, or American hedonism, or…something cool like that.
What you probably don’t know is that song is, primarily, the creation of guitarist Don Felder, who wrote the melody by himself before he even joined the band. As Marty Jourard recounts in his excellent non-fiction book Music Everywhere: The Rock and Roll Roots of a Southern Town:
One afternoon while enjoying his ocean view and no doubt the general situation, Felder sat on his sofa and idly strummed an acoustic twelve-string, eventually refining his musical idea into a carefully crafted guitar arrangement. Using a Teac four-track reel-to-reel recorder, Felder first recorded his Rhythm Ace drum machine playing a cha-cha beat, then added acoustic and electric guitar and bass, then an idea for two solo guitars. Don Henley listened to a cassette mix of this song and more than a dozen others Felder had submitted for consideration and declared this rhythmically complex instrumental the best, giving it a working title of “Mexican Bolero,” and along with Glenn Frey wrote lyrics that transformed Felder’s music demo into “Hotel California,” the title track of the next Eagles album and its first single.
It’s also Felder’s actual guitar playing, along with that of co-lead Joe Walsh, that gives the song its unbelievably haunting tone and its indelible, dark crescendo. I’m not just saying this because Felder, like his childhood friend Tom Petty, is a Gainesville boy like me. Felder is, in fact, one of the most underrated musician/composers in the history of rock-and-roll.
Of course, I don’t mean to denigrate Henley’s and Frey’s brilliant lyrics, gave the song its cachet among the teenage set of the 1970s (and now, even). One thing I’ve noted about “Hotel California” is that is one of those rare examples of a narrative poem (i.e., it tells a continuous story). Also, it’s written in ballad quatrains, with a rhyming scheme of ABCB. How cool is that?
And, yes, I do see a mysterious figure in the bell tower.
Rock on…
I must admit that I had never heard of Awolnation until a few years ago when my son played me a couple of their songs. This song, in particular, has a big, anthemic sound of the sort one doesn’t hear very often in alt-rock. I really like it. Even the soft parts sound really, really loud. And lead singer Aaron Bruno has the vocal range to pull it off without sounding like he’s screaming.
“Passion” is from Awolnation’s 2017 album Here Come the Runts. Rock on…
There have been a lot of great rock duos over the years—Hall and Oates, Tears for Fears, The White Stripes, David and David—but there haven’t been that many hard rock duos. I’m guessing this because you typically need a minimum of three musicians to form a hard rock band: a drummer, a bassist, and a lead guitarist. (One of those folks has to sing, too, obviously.)
The great British duo Royal Blood gets around this minimum by ditching the lead guitarist and having their bassist, Mike Kerr, do double-duty. On this little gem, which has become one of my favorites, he is actually playing a distorted bass that sounds like a lead guitar. (Jack White does the same thing on “Seven Nation Army“.)
Anyway, rock on…!
The great comedian George Burns once attended an Alice Cooper concert, and he was impressed by all the crazy costumes, make-up, special effects, and over-the-top acting that made that artist famous. Later, he saw Cooper back-stage and told him “You’re the last vaudeville act.” He was right! Cooper was one the first artists to realize that great rock-and-roll can be…well…theater. Especially in its stadium-arena-sized version.
Another band that was quick to pick-up on the theater aspect of rock was Kiss, who hit the cultural pop-scene of 1970s like an earthquake. Yes, they were the silliest rock band of that era (perhaps of any era). Kind of like Spinal Tap, but even dumber. However, if you ignored the make-up and the pleather sci-fi costumes, you realized that Kiss was just a kick-ass, New York City rock-band, with tough-guy lyrics and hard-hitting musicianship.
Ace Frehley, their great guitarist, passed away yesterday. I thought I would dedicate this episode of my Friday Night Rock-Out series to him by posting my favorite Kiss song.
Rock on…
I don’t remember how I stumbled upon Canadian band Alvvays, but I’m glad I did. This song, really got to me. It’s one of those singles that gets labelled as “Indie Pop” or whatever, but in fact it’s just a kick-ass rock song.
Rock on…
David Bowie was a musical genius. And perhaps the only bad thing about being a musical genius is the possibility that someday another genius might come along and do a cover of one your songs that’s better than the original. That’s what Kurt Cobain did, I think, with this cover, recorded in 1993 on MTV. And he was only twenty-six at the time.
Oh, well. Here, for your entertainment (and, I hope, solace) is a song written by one genius and sung by another, with some really great musicians playing along.
Rock on…
Stone Temple Pilots was one of the best—perhaps the best—band to come along in the second generation of Grunge. They were also the most metal, thanks to brilliant guitar work of lead guitarist Dean DeLeo. But it was really the vocal work of lead singer Scott Weiland that made the band great. Otherworldly. Exhilarating, yet chilling, all at the same time.
My favorite STP song is this one, “Plush”, which has one of the most remarkable tempo changes in the history of rock. It never fails to make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
And Weiland’s enormously powerful singing was, as was typical of grunge music in general, completely raw. Naked. Unguarded. This was one reason that, when I heard of his death by drug overdose in 2009, I was saddened but not really surprised. Like Kurt Cobain and Chris Cornell and so many other artists, he seemed to feel things too intensely to handle this crazy thing we call Life on Earth.
Or maybe that’s B.S. Maybe he just had an addiction and couldn’t get the right help for it. I don’t know.
Anyway, rock on…
The early 1990s were an amazing time to be alive. The Cold War was over, the internet was changing the world, and the economy was booming. And the music! Grunge was pumping new life into the American and British rock scenes, resulting in an alt-rock renaissance. I’ve already written about many of the great bands of this era, but there were a lot of great smaller ones, too.
One of my favorites was Belly, which was the creation of a young genius named Tanya Donelly. In 1991, Donelly was already an established rock artist, having co-founded the band Throwing Muses with her sister when they were both still in high school. (She had also formed another great band called The Breeders.) Donelly’s influence was all over the college-rock radio stations in that era, and Belly’s first album, Star, was one of my first purchases after grad-school when I finally got a real job (and, shortly thereafter, a real stereo).
The biggest hit on Star was this little gem, “Feed the Tree.” I like it because it’s slightly atonal, off-kilter, and yet very beautiful. More importantly, it overflows with the two emotions that are essential to any good rock song: desire and anger.
It’s too bad we don’t have a good, portmanteau word for this combination, kind of the opposite of lovingkindness, because I think it is the essence of rock-and-roll. But I digress…
Rock on…
I’ve always been a huge fan of Steve Winwood. Even as a kid, I loved how clean and bright his songs were, without ever being sappy or trite. Rather, they kept an edge somehow. Eric Clapton once said that Winwood was like a young, White, British Ray Charles. I kind of think he was right.
Not long ago, I stumbled upon one of Winwood’s music videos. It was for “Valerie,” one of his greatest solo hits and one of my favorite songs of all time. The video was on YouTube, of course, and whoever posted it included lyric-captions. Normally I don’t like to follow the captions on a music video, but for some reason I did this time. And as I followed Winwood’s phrasing, I noticed something I had never seen before. Namely, the way he often splits single syllables into multiple notes. Take the line: “Music, hi and sweet.” It’s five syllables, but he sings it as six notes.
If you are a music major, or anyone who knows a bit about voice training, you are probably rolling your eyes right about now. The technique that Winwood is using is so basic that it’s been around for thousands of years at least. But, being a musical ignoramus, I never thought of it before. It is, I just learned, called melisma and is usually contrasted with syllabic singing, in which notes and syllables match each other one for one.
Ironically, as I did a bit more searching on the internet, I found a Facebook post by Winwood himself, mentioning melisma. It was in reference to the passing of the great singer Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac. Winwood commented on how McVie stood out from many of her contemporary singers by virtue of her syllabic singing. And he’s right. McVie’s phrasing was so sharp it was almost like that of a jazz singer.
And yet, off the top of my head, I can think of several instances of when McVie used melisma to great effect. My favorite example is in “You Make Loving Fun,” when she splits the word “believe” into so many notes I can’t even count them. And each one goes right through me each time I hear it.
It’s taking me this many years to learn the definition of melisma. Go figure. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach them some new words.
Ash Clifton, Writer 